


Handsome Shark

by LizaPod



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, smoking is sexy, still an ass man, unhealthy relationships are more interesting than healthy ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizaPod/pseuds/LizaPod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sexy gen, lusting, but only the absolute barest of physical contact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handsome Shark

Charles had never before considered himself to be a fan of smoking. He’d also never have thought that he had an  _oral fixation_ , being much more of an ass man, but he’s coming to find that perhaps when attached to the right ass, a mouth could be just as-no, that’s not quite what he wants to think at all. 

He blames his inability to think properly- linearly, clearly, let alone  _politely_ \- on Erik. The way he fondles his lighter in his pocket before he gives into the craving for nicotine, a craving Charles can now read in the lines of his face as well as the thoughts floating vaguely across his mind. How he carefully selects the correct cylinder from the pack secreted in his inner jacket pocket. The ooze of contentment, sometimes nearing sexual in its intensity, that crawls across Erik’s consciousness as he settles back into Charles’ spare armchair and closes his lips around the filter. 

There is no doubt in his mind that Erik knows precisely what his habit does to Charles. Erik is distressingly observant and intelligent, and keen as a starving wolf or shark in hunting out any potential weakness or hesitation in any potential prey. 

It is perhaps this predatory physicality, this combination of heady, smoking sensuality and the smile of a particularly handsome shark that keeps Charles’ thoughts swimming in increasingly lopsided and vulgar circles while Erik allows smoke to trickle down into his lungs and back out past his lips. It has certainly caused him to lose more than one game of chess. It is rather hard, after all, to concentrate on outwitting someone when one is busy concealing from them how hard one in fact is.

“You are more distracted than usual this evening,” Erik drawls, blowing smoke across the chessboard at Charles’ face. His self-satisfied smirk is almost as distracting as the vaguely vulgar twiddle of his cigarette over the ashtray. “Beating you won’t be as much fun if you aren’t giving me your full attention.”

Charles waves his glass of brandy absently and coughs to cover his momentarily lack of appropriate response. “I’m sorry, it’s just been such a terribly long day,” he equivocates. He briefly touches the top of Erik’s mind, to see if he’s been successful in dissimulation. 

Erik doesn’t believe him; of course he doesn’t. Erik has the uncanny ability to see past Charles’ lies, in a way only Raven has ever been able to. And he is a practiced liar, though it doesn’t come naturally to him. Charles sits back in his chair, mirroring as best he can Erik’s slouch. That doesn’t come naturally to him, either, but it is more useful for concealing areas of temporary physical embarrassment than proper posture. 

“If it’s been such a  _terribly long day_ , perhaps you should concede defeat and forfeit,” Erik suggests, with another long draw on the butt of the cigarette. He’s almost down to the filter, about to singe his fingers with the ember. Charles has a brief and horrifying desire to lick those fingers and drag the flavor of nicotine and Erik’s skin into himself the way Erik drags smoke and resentment; he shifts uncomfortably in his seat and doesn’t watch the way Erik’s throat works when he swallows the last of his brandy. 

“Perhaps I should, but I think I won’t.” Charles leans across his own lap and takes Erik’s remaining bishop, catching the faintest whiff of  _verdammt_ from his mind and cologne from his skin. Sitting back allows him to adjust his weight, to relieve some of the discomfort of zipper-on-semi. “You can’t scare me off that easily, my friend.” 

“No, I suppose I can’t,” Erik says, flicking the end of his cigarette into the fireplace with one smooth, flawless gesture. Charles is frequently surprised by the elegance of Erik’s smallest movements, the sophistication of his speech and taste; despite the raw animalism of his rage and his sometimes flagrant physicality, and… where he came from… Erik fits as well into the calm of Charles’ private study as he does the violence of their training spaces. 

Erik’s un-singed fingers fly through the lingering clouds of his smoke and push forward his queen. “Check,” he says calmly, and reaches for another cigarette. 

Charles carefully ignores Erik’s meticulous routine for lighting up in favor of studying the board between them. He moves a pawn while Erik brings the lighter to his mouth. A fresh puff of smoke obscures the air over the chessboard when Erik takes his turn, prodding a piece forward with the same hand that holds his addiction. “And _mate_ , I think you’ll find.”

“So I see,” Charles says, finishing the last dregs of his brandy. 

“And to the victor, the spoils.”

“We weren’t playing for stakes, were we?” He has no recollection of setting terms.

“Perhaps you weren’t,” Erik says, and blows smoke in his face again. “But I was.”

“What did you just win, then?” Charles busies himself with resetting the chessboard, in readiness for another evening, and to avoid the sharp edges of Erik’s smile. He draws his mind into himself to avoid the suddenly even sharper edges of Erik’s thoughts. 

“Perhaps nothing, though I would be very surprised to find that.” Erik lightly taps the back of Charles’ hand with the two fingers holding his cigarette. “You appear to be having… personal difficulties this evening. I shall leave you to them.” 

There is a brush of Erik’s mind opening to his.  _Good night, Charles_. He has to suppress the need to shift again in his seat from the heat Erik colors his thoughts with, the same sticky, slow burn as the one from the first drag on his cigarette.

Charles keeps his eyes on the chessboard as Erik stands and edges past him, unnecessarily close given the size of the room. If he were the sort of man given to casual vulgarities he would curse Erik’s damnable gift for reading him. He cannot resist, however, the backwards glance over his shoulder to watch Erik leave the room.

He is, after all, still an ass man.


End file.
